Evidence of a Ghost
by tabbi
Summary: Grissom once said, everyone needs a diversion. Most people choose theirs, this one chose him.


Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any of the recognizable charaters in this. They belong to CBS and Alliance et al. This was just for fun. I don't think I could write for money 

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Notes: Thanks trap and tinman for your nit-picky help and patience. IOU 

Synopsis: Grissom angers a judge and gets community service, ophelia complex, with a twist. 

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"Mr. Grissom! You are in contempt of this court. I have warned you already." The judge glared at the man on the stand. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the judge motioned the bailiff to the stand. "This witness is dismissed. Bailiff, please escort Mr. Grissom to a holding cell."   
Grissom sat in the cell reviewing the case and its evidence. He had not been an investigator on this case, no one on his team had been involved. He was rather surprised that one of Ecklie's investigators would ask. He should have said no. He should have recommended someone else to the district attorney, especially when he found out Greenley was presiding. But, he hadn't. Once again, his passion for puzzles had overridden his good sense.   
Without conscious thought, his hand dropped to his wrist. Almost as a reflex he began to count the beats. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, as he analyzed the situation. He was agitated. More than agitated, if the elevation of his heart rate was any indicator. He was furious.   
But why? Because he was right and the judge knew he was right. To the deductive mind that made him a meticulous investigator, the answer was clear. The judge knew that Grissom was right and that he was wrong. The two of them had never seen eye to eye about justice and evidence.   
Grissom was angry because he shouldn't be sitting in a cell for doing his job. He wasn't going to change the evidence to fit the judge's perspective. The evidence didn't lie, and Grissom wasn't about to overlook the evidence to suit anyone.   
"You know, Mr. Grissom, I'd think a smart man like yourself would stay away from Greenley's courtroom."   
Grissom looked up out of his musings at an ancient bailiff. The man's dark eyes twinkled with ageless wisdom. Despite a lack of formal education, the bailiff knew a great many useful bits of information. Such as, which judges not to disagree with, despite the evidence.   
"Just trying to do my job, George." said Grissom evenly.   
The bailiff returned Grissom's wry smile. "Not an easy thing, your job. I'm surprised you don't have yourself a nice professorship at the university."   
Grissom laughed. It wasn't the first time he had heard this suggestion. Before he could reply, a sharp voice echoed down the hallway.   
"Bailey, stop fraternizing with the inmates. You got work to do and the judge wants to see this detainee in his chambers."   
The venerable guard opened the cell door giving Grissom a conspiratorial wink. "You take care now, Mr. Grissom." 

The judge, still clothed in his judicial robes, sat behind an enormous desk in an equally grand, but, comfortable-looking chair. The walls were lined with beautifully bound books, no doubt every legal code in the great state of Nevada. Where there was a break in the ornate shelving, there were elaborate, embellished, faux-wood file drawers. The walls were also ostentatious displays of the myriad of diplomas, citations and accolades the judge had accrued over the years. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a few chairs. They were the sort one found in waiting rooms. The kind usually covered in plastic, imitation leather vinyl. These, however, were covered in an earthy colored cloth weave the color and texture of burlap.   
Grissom stood in front of the desk waiting for the judge to begin. The stoic facade, unintentional as it was, hid an eager, questioning mind. Grissom perused the room in detail, as if it were a crime scene. It told him a great deal about the judge. Most of it useless and not completely unknown, but it was a compulsion he seldom curbed.   
With a condescending smile, the judge waved Grissom to a chair. "Have a seat, Mr. Grissom. Make yourself comfortable."   
As he sat, Grissom noted, with a clinical, detached interest, that the room was arranged so that none save the judge should be at ease.   
The judge leaned back and began his well rehearsed speech. "I completely understand your suspicious attitude towards judges what with that whole Milder fiasco..."   
"Millander." corrected Grissom.   
The judge continued as if he hadn't heard, which Grissom reasoned, he probably hadn't.   
".... dreadful matter that was. And your job shows you only the most depraved acts of humanity. But I simply cannot accept your behavior in my courtroom today. Other judges may overlook your disregard for simple courtesy, because they are awed by your knowledgeable background, but I am not. I respect your expertise, but in my courtroom I am the final say and I cannot have you disagree with me. Your behavior today was positively unprofessional. I realize in your field, people skills are not a priority; but I cannot have you behaving like a spoiled child in my courtroom. You really must learn to communicate better and show proper decorum."   
The judge paused for effect.   
"This is not some backwards, little, dirt water town in the sticks. I am not some deranged, county barrister out to get you for some outlandish, demented reason. While I admit that I have not always held you in the highest esteem, I am not plotting your death. Quite frankly, I have better things to do with my time and I try to think of you as little as possible.   
"As a judge, I am the defender of all that is good and noble in the world. It is my duty to enforce certain moral and ethical standards. Without me, and my peers, humanity would be little better than speaking monkeys. I simply cannot have my authority questioned, even by you. I cannot allow myself to be seen as partial by ignoring this obvious breach of etiquette. But I also see it as my duty to help those misguided souls who appear before me; to steer them in the right direction. I want the punishment to fit the crime so to speak.   
"You are in great need of more refined interpersonal skills. Develop your finer social graces. You can do nothing better for yourself, especially a man of your obvious intelligence. To this end I have chosen to sentence you to 365 hours of community service, rather than the standard fine."   
The judge waited for Grissom to object. Grissom had only been half listening to the self-aggrandizing, condescending speech. He hated to ask the obvious question, but the judge wanted to play his game and Grissom was obliged to play along, for now. Grissom sighed inwardly. "And if I don't?"   
"The equivalent time in jail, plus a second charge of contempt and the additional fine." The judge leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think we both know your choice. I doubt your career would survive two weeks in jail and I doubt you'd enjoy it."   
"I presume you have a specific service in mind." This was ridiculous. The judge could have saved them both considerable time without the games.   
"I do indeed. The best way to learn is to teach. I'm on the board of directors at a recreational facility for underprivileged youths. They have started a mentoring program and I want you to volunteer. Perhaps by instructing one of these young, malleable minds you could refine the skills you have."   
The judge scribbled on a piece of paper, then handed it to Grissom. "I've already talked to the project coordinator, Sue Shelley, and she's expecting you Monday afternoon." 

Grissom walked through the dismal halls of the rec center. In essence, it was a series of concrete bunkers painted in muddy, institutional colors. The walls were dotted here and there with ragged anti-drug, anti-smoking and anti-alcohol posters. The rooms were labeled by hand written signs scribbled on plain white paper. A young woman with a clipboard spotted him.   
"May I help you find someone?" she asked, approaching him.   
"Hi, I'm Gil Grissom. I'm looking for Sue Shelley." he replied.   
The young woman smiled. "You found her. What can I do for you?"   
"Judge Greenley sent me over."   
"Oh." She looked surprised. "I see."   
Grissom fought the urge to leave. "Is there a problem?"   
"No. Not at all." She offered him a warm smile. "You aren't what I expected. You're different from the volunteers he usually sends. Are you a friend of his?"   
"Not exactly." Grissom found himself unwilling to explain the situation.   
"Ok. Robert Duncan is in charge of arranging the volunteers, let's see who he has paired you with." She put down the stack of folders on a nearby table and glanced through the sheaf of papers on the clipboard. Her face fell and she frowned with frustration. "Oh, for Pete's sake! I am so sorry, Mr. Grissom. The program is still in its developmental stages and we haven't quite perfected the system. I haven't checked this week's roster for changes, yet. Mr. Duncan paired you with Alexe Prescott."   
She paused shaking her head. "Aleksay," She stressed the pronunciation of the final sound. "is a girl. We try to match genders of the child and mentor as often as possible. Alexe's name confuses him.   
"I apologize for dragging you out here, Mr. Grissom. I'll rearrange the list and fix it for the next time. Sorry to have wasted your time." She turned away from him, setting the clipboard on the stack of folders. Rubbing her temples, she exhaled suddenly. "Oh, no! Alexe is waiting in my office. Shoot! I suppose I will have to send her home. She'll be disappointed she walked all this way for nothing. Maybe I have some filing for her to do."   
Grissom knew she was talking to herself and he was free to leave, but he was here, there was no point to wasting time. "Ms. Shelley, if it's all the same to you, I don't mind staying, since I'm here anyway."   
She turned and stared at him in astonishment. "Could you? That would be wonderful. I feel so sorry for Alexe. She is only eligible for the mentoring program here, one of her teachers recommended her. Said she needed to work on her 'people skills'." She flashed Grissom a bright smile. "I can rearrange the schedule, but if you could just talk to her for a while today.... so she won't feel rejected.   
"She's really an agreeable little girl. Just a bit misguided." Ms. Shelley smiled again. It made Grissom anxious. "Alexe is in my office, down the hall. You're welcome to find a quiet room or if you're the adventurous type, she likes the outdoors. Just be warned she has a fondness for creepy, crawly things."   
"Aren't you concerned with the liability if I take her into a room alone?"   
"Just leave the door open. The judge usually sends very reliable people. If you'd rather go outside, there are always a few kids on the court." Ms. Shelley laughed. "Thank you so much, Mr. Grissom. You have no idea what this means to me."   
She picked up her stack of folders and papers and turned to go. "Thanks, again. You're such a blessing. My office is the last door on the right."   
He walked down the dim hallway. The lights in the office were off and the door was ajar a few inches. Grissom gave the door a gentle nudge, as if he was entering a crime scene. "Hello?"   
Just inside the door, on an old folding chair, sat a lumpy, old coat. It looked at him. "Ms. Shelley isn't here right now." it said.   
"Actually," replied Grissom. "I'm looking for Alexe Prescott."   
The lump moved; in the shaft of light Grissom could see the lump was actually as petite teen in a sizable black slicker. Strands of straight dark hair framed a narrow pinched face. If he had to guess at her age, Grissom would put her at about fifteen or sixteen.   
"I'm Alexe." She stared at Grissom, as if evaluating him. "I guess Mr. Duncan forgot again."   
Grissom nodded. "Gil Grissom." Here was an interesting puzzle. "You like the dark."   
The lump moved; Grissom assumed she had shrugged. "My mother says it's inconsiderate to disturb other people's things without asking."   
"I see." Grissom considered the situation. This should be an easy puzzle. He'd seen her type before. Morose teenager, full of angst, trying to shock the establishment with her macabre behavior and her somber clothing. Something bothered him about that assessment. Perhaps if he talked to her he'd figure it out. "Why don't we go outside and talk?"   
She stood up and stepped out into the hallway. As she stood there blinking, Grissom altered his evaluation. Her look was less for shock, than for pity. Her canvas sneakers were held together with electrical tape. Her jeans were clean, but several sizes too big. Her t-shirt hung to her knees and probably, Grissom theorized, to her elbow, under the ratty duster she wore. Her hair was straight and black and her eyes were a disconcerting color of green. Her coat swished soundlessly, hovering just above the floor, as she pushed the door open. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, her face upturned towards the sun, and held the door for Grissom. At least she was polite.   
For a time they sat in the shade of the gazebo in the xeroscaped garden. Grissom had the distinct feeling she was waiting on him.   
"So what grade are you in?" That was a stupid question. He was never going to make it through a year of this. He didn't know what to say to teenagers. He hadn't known what to say to them when he was a teenager.   
"I'm in tenth grade." she answered in a quiet voice.   
"So what do you like to do?"   
"I read a great deal."   
There was something peculiar in the way she answered. Grissom couldn't quite decide what it was that he found out of the ordinary.   
"I didn't think kids did that anymore." That was stupid. Grissom tried another tack. "Where do you like to hang out with your friends?"   
"I don't have any."   
Her voice was even, as if discussing the weather. Grissom waited for her to elaborate. He knew the obvious question was why, but obvious questions often brought predictable answers. This young lady had given him too many easy, predictable answers and that bothered him.   
"You don't have any hang outs?" he prompted.   
"No. Friends." she corrected. "I guess I'm a ghost. I'm there, but I don't really exist in their world. I guess that's why I'm here." Her words came to an abrupt halt as if she had just revealed a dark family secret.   
Beads of sweat ran down her face. Even in the shade of the gazebo, the blazing Nevada sun baked the air around them. She had to be sweltering in the heavy coat.   
"You look hot." said Grissom. "Why don't you take off your jacket?"   
"I'm not really that warm." But she slid out of the trench coat like a snake shedding its skin.   
Her whole demeanor changed. With the duster on she had been like a creature in camouflage trying to blend into the scenery. Now she was like some forms of _Armadillidium_ who rolled up into hard little balls when threatened. Her knees were tucked in firmly under her chin, which rested against her chest. Her feet were crossed at the ankle and she drew her crossed arms in tight to her body. She didn't look at him but stared intently at the ground.   
Grissom tried again. "Do you have any hobbies?"   
"Not really. Oh! look at that." Her face lit up like the Strip at night. A pencil appeared from no where and she used it to pick up a pale scorpion.   
With great care she settled it on the railing and watched it with interest. All of a sudden, she faced Grissom like the idea had just occurred to her that he was still there. He watched the color rise in her cheeks and she closed up again like a wilted blossom.   
"Sorry." she mumbled. She pulled her arms into her her body as if trying to hide. She glanced down at the enormous watch on her tiny right wrist; rubbing at the battered crystal, she stared at it. "I gotta go make dinner."   
She fumbled with her coat, her back to Grissom. Her shell once again in place, she seemed to resume a more natural stance. He watched her back, studying her movements.   
"Thank you it was nice to have met you." she mumbled.   
"What?" Grissom snapped to his senses.   
She turned to face him. At last, she met his eyes with a piercing stare. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Grissom." Her voice was stiff and lacked any real emotion. "It was nice to have met you."   
He shook her extended hand. It was callused like his own, but the grip was strange. Almost ethereal. Like shaking hands with a ghost. He watched her walk away. The moment her feet touched the sidewalk in front of the rec center, she broke into a dead run. Grissom debated his next move. Common sense and good judgment said to move on, he was only asking for trouble by getting involved. On the other hand, she was an intriguing puzzle. He had always considered himself an accurate judge of people. But he had misjudged Alexe. No. He had been wrong. Very wrong. But why? 

"Ms. Shelley?" Grissom stood in the doorway of her office, which looked less cave like in the light.   
Her face glowed as she looked up from her paperwork. "Oh! Mr. Grissom. Thanks so much for taking time for Alexe today. I hated to send her home. She lives on the other side of town and it's a long walk. I really don't know much more about Alexe then what the forms tell me, but she seems like a sweet, if not troubled child. I feel sorry for her. I apologize for rambling. I'll have a new student for you tomorrow or Wednesday."   
She flashed him a radiant smile. "I hope she didn't startle you with her bug stuff."   
"Bugs don't bother me." replied Grissom. "But I would like to talk to you about her, if I could."   
"Oh, dear." Ms. Shelley's face fell. "What did she do now? Not a snake, I hope?"   
"No." Grissom looked at her and wondered why most people assumed the worst in others. "I just wanted to let you know that it's not necessary for you to change the roster, unless it violates a policy."   
"You mean you're willing to work with Alexe?" Her face lit up once more; Grissom nodded as she continued. "She's been difficult to match. I'll have to get further parental permission and I want to make sure this is okay with Alexe, but I don't anticipate any problems. Call me tomorrow and I'll let you know." 

Grissom sat in the break room, the New York Times Crossword undone in front of him on the table. Sara watched his disinterested sips of coffee, the untouched puzzle laying forgotten.   
"Hey, Gris, what's wrong?" Lost in thought, Grissom failed to acknowledge her. Sara touched his arm and tried again. "Earth to Grissom, what's wrong?"   
Grissom looked at her, nonplused. "What makes you think there's something wrong?"   
"The unfinished crossword puzzle in front of you." Sara ventured.   
"Oh. I'm done with it. You can finish it." Grissom stood and left the room.   
Sara watched him walk down the hall. Catherine came in and poured herself a cup of coffee. "What's up?"   
Sara frowned. "Is something wrong with Grissom?"   
"Not that I know of, why?"   
"He just sat here for twenty minutes and only did two clues." Sara motioned at the paper on the table. "He seemed preoccupied."   
Catherine shrugged. "Who knows with Grissom?" 

"Mr. Grissom, good to see you." Ms. Shelley favored him with an endearing smile. "Alexe is waiting outside. And don't worry, the Garden Club is out there today, so you won't be alone with her."   
Today Alexe wore baggy overalls over an old, faded oxford shirt. The cuffs were rolled up two or three times so that her hands peeked out.   
Grissom sat down on the bench opposite Alexe and studied her in silence. She leaned against the battered railing, eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell at a steady rate. Casual observation would say she was sleeping, but Grissom noticed her fingers rhythmically rubbing the well worn benches and the toes of her dilapidated shoes barely reaching to tap the rough wooden floor.   
"Hi."   
Although Grissom had known that she wasn't sleeping, her voice still startled him. He had been entirely too absorbed in his observations to remember what he was doing at the center.   
To cover his lapse he asked an obvious question. "What are you listening to?"   
"The desert." Not quite the answer he expected.   
He was skeptical. "In the middle of the city?"   
"It's all a matter of what you focus on." She sat up and gave him an intense stare. "So you came back?"   
"Yes."   
"Couldn't find you another kid, huh?"   
Grissom returned her pointed stare. "Actually, I told Ms. Shelley not to bother."   
Alexe looked away, leaning backward over the rail to gaze at the cloudless sky. "I know. She told me. She thinks you're a little weird and told me to let her know if you do anything..." Alexe paused and shrugged. "...strange."   
"And your mother agreed to this arrangement?"   
"As long as I'm not at home watching garbage." Her voice was devoid of emotion.   
"Are you okay with this arrangement?"   
Alexe shrugged. "That's irrelevant."   
"No, it's not." Grissom insisted.   
The universe laughed at him. He was fascinated by puzzles and so he tended to think of people as puzzles to solve. That was a bad habit. Now, here he was trying to figure out this kid, who seemed to know it and balked him at every step. A puzzle who refuse solution. But Grissom was tenacious; so much so that the rest of the world called him stubborn to a fault.   
"Do you agree with Ms. Shelley?" He asked at last. "That I'm weird?"   
She shrugged a second time. That was annoying; now she faced him again. Her eyes looked vacant. Like there was nothing conscious left behind them.   
"Yes." She stared at him for a long minute with her dead eyes. "But I thought the other five were weird too."   
"The other five?" Grissom's eyebrow shot up. His good sense told him now was the time to extricate himself from this predicament. But he couldn't leave a puzzle unsolved. "The other five, what?"   
"Mentors." Now she took on the severe attitude of a suspect challenging an officer; daring him to ask questions to which he might not like the answers.   
"What happened to them?" Grissom asked in a calm, reasonable voice. If he was abandoning reason by getting involved, he might as well take her bait.   
"Mr. Greenley was the first. He was someone important, I think. We had a serious difference of opinion on a religious mater." Her voice echoed the dead tone of her eyes.   
Grissom shot her a questioning look.   
Alexe shrugged. "He thought he was a god and I didn't. He lasted about an hour, right up until I brought up the bugs.   
"Number two was a student intern from UNLV. Sharon. She was nice, but her schedule only allowed her to do it for one semester.   
"Katrina moved to New York, just before Christmas. She was promoted. I think she was kind of glad to go." Alexe's voice was melancholy. Grissom wasn't sure if she was trying to chase him off or convince him to stay out of pity. "She didn't like the arid climate. Too many creepy, crawlies to suit her.   
"Melissa wasn't screened too well. I guess they were desperate. She committed suicide about six weeks ago.   
"Then there was Maryah. She was okay, until the spider. It was just a little one. How was I supposed to know she was an arachnophobe?"   
She squinted at him. "You're not an arachnophobe are you? Or have any serious fear of bugs in general?""   
"No." Something about the way she listed off those other mentors gave Grissom pause. Alexe appeared not to care or have been emotionally invested in those people, but her voice and posture said something else. Like she didn't expect him to see him after today.   
"Good. Are you a writer?" she asked suddenly.   
"No. I'm a crime scene investigator."   
"A forensic scientist?" Alexe wrinkled her nose. "What are you doing here?"   
"Las Vegas is beautiful, and we have one of the top crime labs in the country."   
"No. What are you doing here?" She pointed at the ground.   
"Talking to you." If she was going to be vague and evasive with her answers, he would play her game.   
"Okay. I see." Grissom could almost see her back off. She looked at the floor again. "I don't really want to be here either. This place is creepy."   
Grissom tried again. "What do you like to do?"   
"Read. I can't really afford anything else. Last summer I saved enough to buy a few bus passes. I went to the library everyday." Her voice was faraway, lost in a memory. "I like going to the colleges better than the public library. Sharon used to take me with her to UNLV when she had a project. The librarian at the public library gives me nasty looks like I shouldn't check out research materials." She almost smiled. "Like there are hordes of people clamoring for books on desert insect life or arachnids.   
"Oh, there it is again." She bent over and picked up a pale brown scorpion. "It's a... a ... _c. sculp.... tur...ra...tus_ ."   
Without thinking, Grissom corrected her. "No, it's a _centreroides exilicauda_ ."   
"Oh." She set the scorpion down in the dusty dirt beside the gazebo. Self-consciously she glanced at her watch. "I gotta go."   
She walked away without another word.   
"Will you be here tomorrow?" Grissom asked her retreating back.   
She hesitated for a moment, but didn't turn around. "Will you?"   
"Yes."   
"Okay."   
Grissom was tired. It wasn't because this was difficult but because he just wasn't very adept at it. He had never done this poorly at anything. But he didn't intend to give up. He still had a few hours before his shift started, he could get a little sleep and speculate Alexe and his troubles later. 

The rain came in sheets blowing through the concrete canyons. As Grissom glanced trough the torrent he could see a small black form huddled under the eaves on the rec center steps. He walked up to her pressed against the sides of the building.   
"Can't you wait inside?" he asked, looking out at the downpour.   
She shrugged hugging the side of the facility. "It's Ms. Shelley's day off and I'd rather not."   
"So what now?" He wiped away the water running down his face. She was drenched.   
Alexe opened her mouth to reply, just as her stomach uttered a loud rumble.   
"How about food?" Grissom suggested. He was hungry anyway and he hoped that kids could still be motivated by food.   
"I can't afford food." Alexe mumbled.   
"My treat." offered Grissom.   
She scrutinized him as if evaluating all his possible motives. "What do I have to do for you?" He gave her a serious look. "Stop shrugging. Just say what you want and give me some honest answers today."   
She seemed to consider his proposition for a moment then nodded. "Okay."   
Grissom let her eat in silence. He had decided to take it slow this time. If he was going to figure this one out, he had to step back and analyze each move with care. It was like playing chess.   
"So what do you want to know?" She had finished her burger and was halfway through a plate of fries before she spoke.   
"What does your mother do?" An innocuous enough question.   
Alexe chewed on a french fry. "She's a waitress at a bar, part-time. She was working at a convenience store near where we live, but she got 'downsized'."   
"How about your father?"   
"He's dead."   
Something about the way she said it made Grissom stop. Maybe this wasn't a good line of questioning. He waited.   
"He died when I was two or three. He had been arguing with my mom and went out for a ride on his Triumph and never came back. My mom got remarried a year or so later to an Elvis impersonator. He was a nice guy, but they got divorced when I was six.   
"Since then it's been a steady stream of men. If we ever lived in one place long enough I'd install a revolving door."   
"You're a cynical little girl." As soon as Grissom said it he realized it might have been the wrong thing to say.   
Alexe stopped eating. "I am not a little girl."   
At least she didn't shut down. "You're, what, fifteen?" asked Grissom.   
"Yeah, so?"   
"So, to me, you are a little girl." he answered.   
"So, to me, you are an old man." she shot back.   
Grissom frowned at her. "I am not."   
Why was he having a stupid, irrelevant argument with a kid?   
"Sure, you are." she returned his look. "You're, what, a hundred?"   
"No..."   
"Ok," she conceded, interrupting him. "you're only three times my age, you just act like an old man."   
"I do not!" Grissom was surprised to find himself getting annoyed.   
Alexe gave him a brief, faint smile. "So aren't you afraid of someone accusing you of something indecent?"   
"What?" Grissom was taken aback. This kid shifted subject faster than a dictionary.   
The smile was gone, replaced by a serious, somber look. "Being seen with me, aren't you worried what people will think?"   
"I'm not concerned with what other people think, only the truth." Grissom answered.   
Alexe shook her head. "I gathered that, but an accusation like that would ruin your job, true or not."   
"Does that bother you?" Grissom asked.   
Alexe gazed at her fries. "I'd hate to cause anyone any trouble."   
Grissom sat for a moment. He had though about it. It was his only objection to this deal. The waitress appeared and asked about dessert; breaking the strange silence.   
Grissom glanced at Alexe. "You want a banana split?"   
Alexe started to shrug, then stopped. "I've never had one."   
Grissom looked at the waitress. "2 banana splits, extra cherries."   
Alexe's eyes grew wide as the waitress set the ice cream in front of her. She ate without comment. Grissom let her eat in peace. Check and mate. 

In working with Alexe, Grissom had learned several things. First, being at the rec center put her on the defensive. When they met there, her body language spoke of imminent attack and suspected ambush on every side. Food made her less evasive. She was very discreet and circumspect about her life; as if it were a closely guarded national secret. She had managed to draw more information out of him than he had out of her. She had even persuaded him to reveal his reasons for volunteering.   
He had a few pieces to the puzzle, however. He knew she was poor, on the edge of indigence, barely making ends meet to buy the basics, but not quite impoverished enough to qualify for public assistance. Grissom suspected there were mitigating circumstances to this poverty, but there was no evidence to support them. Alexe had also implied that she wasn't home much because of her mother's current boyfriend. She was fascinated by desert creatures, especially spiders and scorpions. None of the evidence he had collected seemed indicate or support a viable theory. He had investigated few cases that had frustrated and confused him as much as Alexe. An offhand remark one day would be ignored and the next day could silence her. 

As usual, Alexe sat on the steps of the rec center. Today her cheeks were bright red from the heat and her hair was plastered to her forehead with perspiration.   
"Do you walk here everyday?" Grissom asked as he sat down on the steps beside her.   
"I walk everywhere." she panted, wiping sweat from her eyes.   
"Do you live far from here?" Grissom already knew from Ms. Shelley that Alexe lived across town. He waited to see how she would answer.   
Alexe tossed her head nonchalantly. "Couple of miles."   
That was an understatement. Although Grissom was aware that being alone with her might bring up questionable issues, he was uncomfortable with the thought of anyone, let alone a fifteen year old girl walking across Vegas unaccompanied. There had to be a better solution. "Maybe we could find a meeting place closer to your home." he suggested, as if they had been talking about the weather.   
"Maybe." she answered with equal enthusiasm.   
This was typical of the conversations that had developed over the many weeks. Sometimes the better part of the hours they spent together were spent in silence, just thinking. Two loners assigned to improve the other's communication. The irony of it was not lost on Grissom.   
"Not the library." said Alexe abruptly, after several minutes. "The head librarian might be suspicious."   
"Of what?" asked Grissom evenly. He was sure he knew the answer. Her preoccupation about the matter unsettled him. Conjecture about the reasons for her fixation angered him.   
"Of you meeting me there everyday. She's always telling me to be careful walking home and be wary of strangers in the stacks and tell her if anyone weird talks to me. I think she's dubious about my reasons to be there. Like you said before, appreciation of the written word among the young is a dying art. She just doesn't understand why I hide behind the walls of words. Why I seek solace in the shelter of the shadows of soaring shelves. I enclose myself in a formidable fortress of fiction, great bastions of book bricks. I feel safe there alone. Books make no demands, can't be disappointed and remain unchanged when you leave them."   
The tumble of words came to an immediate halt. "Sorry." she mumbled.   
Grissom restrained his investigative impulse to push the issue further. Alexe kept so much inside, despite her apparent trust in him. Pressing her for more information was strategically weak. She'd simply close up shop for the day and go home. Although Grissom had serious doubts to the reality of her actually going home.   
"Ice cream?" he asked instead.   
Alexe shrugged. "Sure."   
In the end, Alexe agreed to meet Grissom at a small cafe near the lab. In his years at the lab, he had frequented the cafe and her assured Alexe that no one would be concerned that something immoral or illegal was happening. After the first few days, Alexe became known as Grissom's protege, which seemed to please her. She was deeply curious about his job and entomology in general. Grissom found himself eager to share. 

Today Grissom's goal was to get Alexe to smile. Not just the faint spark, the hint of a smile; but a real smile, no matter how fleeting. Alexe never seemed to smile. It was like a spark on a stubborn match head. Faint and passing as quickly as it appeared. He was failing miserably.   
They had just finished eating when an elderly woman with purple silver hair tottered up to the table.   
"I just wanted to tell you what a beautiful daughter you have, son." the old woman warbled at Grissom, patting his hand.   
"She's..."   
"Thank you." interrupted Alexe.   
"It warms my heart to see you two together." the old woman continued in a teary voice. "This would be a better world if there were more men like you who were so involved in their children's lives. Keep up the fine work, young man." She patted his arm again and tottered away.   
"She's right." whispered Alexe.   
"But why did you lie to her?"   
"I didn't. I just didn't correct her misconception. I'm not compulsive about that like some people." She smiled at him. A real smile, brief though it was. Like a flame in a stiff breeze.   
"That's why I think your job is so hard." she continued. "You deal in truth. Cold hard facts. People don't like having their perceptions of reality challenged.   
"Like that old lady. To her, for me to be eating dinner alone with a man three times my age must mean he's my father. To the staff here, I'm your student. To a cynical, suspicious mind, it's something else.   
"But you have to find the reality that fits the evidence. The truth. You have to know so much about so many things in forensics. It's like you have to be a master of everything."   
Grissom nodded. "So what's your perception?"   
He shouldn't ask. It was probably something he didn't want to hear. But it was a key piece of evidence. He was compelled to ask even if she refused to answer.   
Alexe was silent. She just stared at the checkered table cloth. Grissom had given up on an answer, when she spoke. He strained to hear her murmured answer.   
"I'm a means to an end. A project; when you're finished you'll disappear and go on with your life somewhere else." She faced him with her luminous green eyes. "To you, I'm a puzzle to be solved."   
She was perceptive. Although he was embarrassed that she was mostly right, Grissom didn't think it was the truth. It might have been the truth at the outset of his service, but now he wasn't so sure. An unforeseen realization dawned on him. If the time ever came, he couldn't vanish from her life as he could the lab. Grissom was suddenly uncomfortable. Alexe was sitting across the table sipping on a glass of water. He expected her to say it was time for her to go home.   
His phone rang. It was Brass asking about some prints they had run the previous night. It distracted Grissom from his thoughts. When he finished, Alexe was peering at him through her long sable bangs.   
"You were wrong." she said.   
"About what?"   
"When I asked you about being a writer." She pulled a plastic bag out. The book in it was well read. The cover was held on by tape and its pages were falling out. It was marked and high lighted throughout, held together with paper clips and a large rubber band. Grissom almost didn't recognize it. It was a book he had written many years ago about forensic entomology. Alexe pushed it across the table.   
"Would you sign it? So when you're gone and famous, I can say I knew you when you were a ghost like me." 

A few nights later, Grissom was working on a suspicious death in Alexe's building. Alexe stood just outside the police tape like a silent specter, dressed in her long black trench coat and some thin cotton pajamas. She smiled at him when he arrived. She was still sitting in the hallway when he left.   
It made him feel admired, but when another investigator mention her appearance to him, Grissom shrugged it off and said he hadn't really noticed her. 

"Isn't it hard to stay uninvolved in the cases?"   
"Sometimes."   
They had been discussing some of the cases Grissom had use insects and entomology to solve.   
"I think that's what happened to my mom's second husband." said Alexe stoically. "He kept telling her she was neglecting me. She worked days and he worked nights. I made breakfast and he made lunch and dinner. My mom was a heavy drinker. He kept threatening to call social services. I don't know if he ever did, but one day a social worker showed up. Mom got mad and threw him out."   
Grissom noticed the tears in her eyes. Finally, he saw the pattern. The pieces were beginning to make sense. This puzzle would not be quickly nor easily solved, if in fact, there was even a solution possible. A growing dismay crept over him. Grissom had two choices. Neither of them especially appealing. He could press on and find out if there was a solution or capitulate and join the pattern.   
"My mom got a new job."   
Alexe's shift in topic distracted him from his thoughts. "What?"   
"She's stripping now." Grissom knew Alexe was watching his reaction, gaging his sincerity. "She still waits tables during the day part time, but she's stripping at night full time."   
"I'm glad she found a full time job." Grissom replied casually. He gave her a rare almost paternal smile. "Catherine was once a stripper." 

Grissom leaned against the SUV watching for Alexe to leave the building. He knew Alexe had spotted him as soon as she stepped outside. She stopped amid the rushing tide to students and stared at him. Finally, she pushed her was through the fierce flood.   
She squinted up at him. "What are you doing here?"   
"We're not going to the cafe today." Grissom answered as he opened the door. He nodded at a box on the seat. "Those are for you."   
She was eyeballing the shoes in the box when he climbed into the driver's seat. She glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye. "What are these for?"   
"They won't let you on the roller coaster with your old shoes." Grissom replied as if stating the obvious. "They're not safe."   
"Roller coaster!" Alexe yelped. "What roller coaster?"   
"The Manhattan at New York, New York." Grissom hazarded a glance at her. "I'm something of a rail junkie and I'm bored of riding alone."   
"I didn't know there was a real roller coaster there." Alexe pulled off her wretched old shoes. Her socks were full of holes and dingy with age. "I've never been on a roller coaster. I can't actually remember being in any of the casinos, except Caesar's. That's where Harvey had his Elvis gig."   
Grissom acknowledged her with a slight nod as she pulled on clean socks and the stiff new shoes.   
"How did you know what size I wear?" she asked gaping at her feet.   
Grissom shrugged. "It's my job." 

"That was awesome!"   
Grissom and Alexe rode the coaster seven times before they decided they'd had enough. Alexe grinned from ear to ear. Seeing her smile like this gave Grissom a bigger rush than the coaster. She almost glowed from excitement.   
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."   
Alexe let out a euphoric sigh. "Can we do it again sometime?"   
"Sure." 

Alexe was acting odd today.   
"Is there something on your mind, Alex?" Grissom asked, growing irritated with her restlessness.   
Alexe fidgeted in her chair. "We're having career week next week. We're supposed to shadow an adult professional. Then we're to write a two page essay and present it orally in English." Alexe paused.   
"So you'd like to shadow me for a night?" Grissom was flattered, but not entirely convinced of the idea.   
"It's not that I mind shadowing my mother, but I'm not sure my classmates are mature enough to handle an oral report on stripping." Alexe studied Grissom through long wispy bangs.   
Grissom thought about his own teenage years and what a little opportunity had done for him. He relented giving her a stern look. "I'll have to get clearance. If you are allowed to come along, you do exactly what I say, you wear gloves at all times and you don't touch anything. Is that clear?"   
"Yes, sir." Alexe agreed with a shy smile. "Thanks." 

"Mr. Grissom? I'm Amy Chang, Alexe Prescott's English instructor."   
Grissom afforded the phone an absent nod, intent on his paperwork.   
"I'll keep it short." She continued primly. "I know you're a busy man. I wanted to thank you for your participation in our career counseling week. Alexe is an exemplary student and has always been an outstanding writer. But her presentation was remarkable. I have never seen her so confident. You definitely made a positive impression on her. Thank you."   
Grissom looked up at the phone, eyebrows raised quizzically. "You're welcome." 

Catherine frowned at Grissom. He was momentarily distracted by the body, when they had arrived on scene for the 419. That was very uncharacteristic. He studied the body lost in thought.   
"Alex has scars on her arms." Catherine heard him whisper pensively.   
She finished the photos of the emaciated body and surrounding alley. "I'm finished with the pictures, Gris." she said in a soft voice. "We can start processing the scene." 

"Sara, would you like to go to the dam on Saturday?"   
"What?" Sara turned to look at her supervisor, who was still absorbed in his crossword.   
"Would you like to go out to Hoover Dam on Saturday?" Grissom paused to write something on the newspaper in front of him. Sara sank into a chair at the other end of the table, looking bewildered. Grissom continued, unaware. "If you aren't free, I can ask Catherine. Maybe she and Lindsey would like to come with us."   
"Us?" Sara frowned trying to make sense of his words.   
"Alex has never been to Hoover Dam. How can you live your entire life in Vegas and not see the dam?" Grissom shook his head and looked up at her finally. "What's a twelve letter word for confusion?" 

"So Sara, how was your trip to the dam with Grissom and his shadow?" Nick grinned.   
Sara shot him a black look.   
"You did it now, Nick." said Warrick. "I'll catch you later."   
Sara rolled her eyes, letting out a savage breath, as Warrick left the break room.   
"They spent the entire trip to the dam discussing tarantulas. It seems that Alexe is trying to decide which kind would make the best pet. The return trip was entomology 101." Sara's voice was a frustrated growl. "And every minute in between, was a lesson on the history of the dam from him or a lesson on the flora and fauna of Nevada from her."   
Nick tried in vain to suppress his amusement. Sara glowered at him. Then her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "And every time Grissom was out of earshot, she gave me the third degree about my intentions."   
Nick laughed. Sara bit back a vicious remark as Grissom entered. Nick's pager went off. He glanced down and left the room.   
"Thanks for going along on Saturday." said Grissom as he poured himself some coffee. "Alex appreciated it."   
Sara nodded. "Hey, Gris, what's a hazardous arizonis paladis anyway?"   
"A _hadrurus arizonensis pallidus._ " corrected Grissom. "It's as scorpion native to the American Southwest. Why?"   
Sara shook her head. "I should have known." 

Grissom looked across the table watching Alexe devour a banana split.   
"Your watch stopped." Grissom observed.   
"I know." Alexe replied as she took a bite. "It's never worked."   
"Why would you wear a watch that doesn't run?"   
"It's all I have left of my father." She put her spoon down and took off the watch. "I guess I don't feel quite so alone when I have it on."   
She handed the watch to Grissom. It was a plain face with a battered crystal and a leather band worn smooth by time. On the back was an inscription, 'Xander Prescott 6/12/69'. He handed it back to her. The pieces were starting to fit together but the puzzle was still a mystery. 

Grissom frowned at Alexe. "What do you mean it wasn't important?" He forced his voice to soften. "You sounded upset on the message. I tried to call you back."   
"The phone's disconnected." Alexe blushed. "It was stupid. Keith was drunk and got a little crazy and I freaked."   
Grissom felt his pulse quicken. He made sure his voice didn't betray his ire. "Did he hurt you?"   
"No." Alexe stared at the table. "It's stupid really, I just got scared and didn't know what else to do."   
The investigator in Grissom took over. His voice was calm and even; his expression neutral. "What scared you?"   
Alexe shrugged, something she hadn't done around him in several months. Experience told Grissom she was disinclined to be honest and really didn't want to discuss it. Normally, he would have dropped the matter. He pressed further. "Why were you scared, Alex?"   
She shrugged again, her voice low as she answered his question. "He made some off color innuendoes."   
Grissom's eyes grew distant as he put himself in the situation, just as he had done many times before at crime scenes. "Then what did you do?"   
"I bolted and called your office. You were out, so I left you a message and walked the Strip." she glanced at him through the long strands of hair that hung in her face. "Do you know how many people play slots at three in the morning?"   
"No." Grissom answered casually. Then the reality of what she had told him hit him. Grissom lost his clinical detachment. "What were you doing on the Strip at 3 a.m.?"   
Alexe bit her lip. "I didn't go home last night."   
Grissom clasped his hands together, struggling to keep his expression, and his voice, neutral. "Where did you sleep?"   
"Lunch and fifth period, study hall." Alexe rolled her eyes. "It's no big deal. I'm sorry if I worried you."   
Grissom could feel his blood pressure climb as his heart rate increased. He took a deep breath and tried to stay composed. If he let her know how cross he was, she would shut down. "Has he ever done anything to make you think he'd act on those suggestions?"   
Alexe chewed her lip and shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze.   
Grissom's blood thundered in his ears. His voice was cool, almost impassive. "I want you to promise me that if he ever does anything that makes you uncomfortable you'll call me immediately."   
Alexe shrugged again.   
"Promise me!" His voice was sharper than he had intended.   
"Yes. Okay." A tear slid down her cheek. Her face was dark red, Grissom wasn't sure if she was angry or ashamed. He could hear the pain in her voice as Alexe continued. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake, all right? Forget I mentioned it."   
"No, Alex. I made the mistake." Grissom's anger melted away for the moment. He rested a gentle hand atop hers, expecting her to pull away. "I'm sorry. I don't ever want to show up at a crime scene where I know the victim."   
"I know." Alexe sighed.   
Grissom pulled out a slip of paper and wrote his cell number on it. He offered it to her, holding the paper until she looked up at him. Her eyes were still rimmed with tears and the cool green of her eyes seemed clouded.   
"Anytime, anywhere." Grissom whispered. "Promise?"   
"Yes, sir." she replied.   
Grissom caught a glimpse of a dark, unhealthy wound glancing across Alexe's wrist and down her arm, under her sleeve. "How did you cut yourself?"   
"Huh?" Alexe looked at her arm. "Oh. I must have caught it on my locker at school."   
"You don't know?" Skepticism creased his brow. Grissom frowned. "Be careful, Alex. Will you be okay over the holiday?"   
"Yes, Mom doesn't work tomorrow. They're closed. Besides, Keith should be distracted by the football games the rest of the weekend." Alexe gave him a faint smile. "And I will call you if I need anything." She paused. "Will you be in town?"   
"Yes." Grissom confided. "I haven't any family nearby and I have to work Thursday night anyway."   
"Are you going to report this?" she asked, wiping away the tears with the heel of her hand.   
"I'm going to do my job." Grissom studied her for a moment. "Would you have kept it from me if you knew I would report it?"   
"No." sighed Alexe in resignation. "I had to tell someone and you are the only friend I have."   
Grissom felt as if the floor had fallen out from under him. His mind went blank and he couldn't find a response. 

"Do you wish you lived in the North at Christmas time?"   
Alexe appeared to be in good spirits today. She had repeatedly assured Grissom that she had been fine over the long weekend and hadn't spent anymore nights under the Strip's neon stars. Today they sat in the hotel restaurant drinking milkshakes after riding the coaster. It had become a weekly habit to ride the "rails". Now they sat back and watched the staff decorate around the lobby.   
"No." replied Grissom, handing her a cherry. "Do you?"   
"No way! I'm not fond of the cold. I'm always cold at school." Alexe took a generous spoonful of ice cream and shoved it in her mouth. Suddenly, she wrinkled her face up in regret, squeezing her eyes closed. "Ooo! Brain freeze!"   
Grissom was puzzled. "What?"   
"An ice cream headache." Alexe clarified with a moan.   
"The vessels in your skull contract due to the cold and cause a dull throb because of decreased blood flow. Push your tongue against the roof of your mouth. The blood will warm and the vessels will expand again."   
Alexe sat still for a moment as if deep in thought. "Wow! That actually worked. Is there anything you don't know?"   
Grissom laughed. "Yes. Sometimes, I think I'm ignorant of more than I know. It seems someone is teaching me something new everyday."   
"Like what?" she asked, intrigued. "What kind of things have the other CSI's taught you?"   
"Ecklie has taught me what I don't want to become." Alexe giggled and Grissom smiled. "Catherine has helped me see that you don't have to stay in a bad situation; even though it might be tough to climb out of the hole. Nick has imparted to me the value of balance. Let's see, Warrick has showed me that hard work and a little grace go a long way on the road to redemption, but it's still a slippery slope."   
Grissom paused in thought. Alexe gave him a perplexed look. "How... philosophical. Have you learned anything useful? You know practical stuff?"   
"The Manhattan is very crowded Friday afternoons after 3:00."   
Alexe rolled her eyes. "What about Sara? You haven't mentioned her."   
"It's as theoretical as the rest." Grissom shrugged, unconsciously. "Sara has taught me to appreciate beauty."   
"She's pretty isn't she?" Alexe gave him an odd look he didn't quite understand. "Do you like her?"   
"As much as the rest." Grissom said neutrally. Even though he couldn't quite pin down the look, he had an uneasy feeling about where this was leading.   
Alexe frowned at him. "No. Are you attracted to her?"   
"She works as my subordinate." Grissom replied. "That would hardly be appropriate."   
Alexe let out a dramatic exasperated sigh. "Well, what if you weren't her supervisor?"   
"I don't deal in conjecture, only facts." answered Grissom dispassionately. His brow creased with sudden understanding. "Is this why Sara acted so out of sorts after we went to the dam? Did you discuss this with Sara, Alex?"   
"Sort of." Alexe confided, turning crimson. "I asked her what her intentions were. I was just curious."   
They lapsed into a long silence. Grissom thought about their conversation. Why did it bother him? How did he feel about Sara? Was there anything more than a professional relationship?   
Intellectually he knew emotions were simply a biochemical response to pheromones and instinct. It was basic biology. He had been involved with other women. he had even been serious once or twice in the past. But was that what he felt for Sara? If he did, how did Sara feel about him?   
There was a strange charge between them, although Grissom had paid little heed to it and given it less thought. Every once in a while she seemed to be fishing for something. What was it? Approval? Affection? Or something else? Weakness, perhaps?   
Sara was a single minded individual. She was a brilliant investigator and destined to climb the ladder of success much more quickly than than he himself had. Grissom simply saw cases as puzzles, Sara saw solutions.   
None of this answered the question, nor did it present any hypothesis to test. Any of the possible solutions made him uncomfortable. There were very few facts to help him make a decision and even if he did, what could he do about it? Sara still worked with him. Romance and professionalism seldom mixed well. It wouldn't work and, in the end, it would be more detrimental than beneficial.   
So he was back where he started. This circuitous line of thought made him dizzy and the subject was not entirely comforting. The fact that Alex had talked to Sara about if made him more uncomfortable. What if Sara wasn't interested? Would it ruin their professional relationship? Personal feelings aside, Grissom enjoyed working with Sara. In all honesty, he was more comfortable working with her than any of the others. Sara seemed to be able to follow his lead, without needing explicit direction. It was as if Sara knew where he intended to go as soon as he did. Sara seemed to be able to anticipate his every move.   
Grissom's head began to throb. This wasn't getting him anywhere and it was far from productive in any other way. Why was he having this conversation with Alex any way? She was only fifteen and knew little about relationships. Grissom shook his head. That wasn't fair. Alex's age had nothing to do with her wisdom. After all, he had been performing unofficial autopsies at her age. Besides, it was unnerving how astute she was in her observations. But, however perceptive Alex might be, this wasn't an appropriate topic to be discussing with her.   
Alexe finished her shake with a loud, inverted gurgle. Grissom was immediately and uncomfortably aware that she had been studying him the entire time.   
"Have you learned anything from me?" she asked quietly.   
"Yes. Sometimes understanding the puzzle itself is more fun than finding the solution." Grissom leaned in on his elbows. "There doesn't always have to be a solution."   
Alexe blinked at him. "I know why you and Sara work so well together."   
"Alex, we are not discussing this anymore." Grissom began.   
"No. Wait, hear me out." Alexe leaned towards him. "You don't see another individual when you look at each other."   
Grissom leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"   
"You both have immersed yourselves in your work to the near exclusion of everyone and everything else. You are your job. Neither of you seems to relate to people well. You don't understand them. So when you look at Sara you see a reflection of yourself, like a mirror and not a separate person."   
"Sara is nothing like me." Grissom insisted, even though the argument sounded valid. "She gets entirely to involved emotionally."   
"It's just a theory." Alexe let out a forlorn sigh, sinking back into her seat. "It's getting dark, I guess I should head home now."   
"How are things going at home?" Grissom knew something was wrong. He just couldn't figure out what the evidence meant. Even Alex's smile was bittersweet.   
"Okay, I guess." Alex's voice was maudlin. "Mom and Keith have been fighting a lot. Money's tight. I don't think they've been paying the bills. I doing well in school. My science teacher says my work has improved immensely in the past few months."   
She slumped in her seat. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow?"   
Grissom nodded.   
"Tell Sara I said hi." 

Grissom stared at the crossword, pondering the final clue. He was missing a connection somewhere.   
"Coke." said Sara, glancing over his shoulder. "That used to be the slogan."   
Grissom nodded absently. That struck a chord in him. Maybe that was what was wrong with Alex lately. Drugs. But that didn't fit the evidence either. Something about her scars bothered him. It was like he had overlooked something important. 

"What's this supposed to be?" Nick picked up the small silver spider sitting on Grissom's desk.   
"It's a Christmas spider." Grissom replied gesturing at the framed poem nearby.   
"I suppose it's from the spider girl?" Nick continued.   
"Yes."   
"What is it with her and spiders?" asked Nick frowning at the spider in his hand. "A Christmas spider? And what about that frame she gave you for your birthday?"   
"What's wrong with it?" challenged Grissom looking up from his paperwork.   
"Dead spiders in acrylic?" Nick shuddered. "From a fifteen year old girl? That's a little odd don't you think?"   
"Alex likes spiders. She thought I would appreciate these specimens." Grissom gave Nick a speculative look. "I though it was a nice thought. She was quite attached to it. Her grandmother gave it to Alex just before her passing."   
"I don't know, Gris." Nick shook his head. "She's kind of weird."   
"How's that analysis coming on the DNA samples from the missing persons?" asked Grissom. 

Grissom and Sara made their way through the crowded streets of Las Vegas. They had just finished processing an accidental death involving a toddler. The mother had found the body. Mentally Grissom shook his head. That was the hard part. Finding the body and checking for vitals. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Alex about going to a crime scene where he knew the victim. He shook off the thought.   
They stopped at a light. A plastic spider dangled from the mirror, swinging back and forth. It made Grissom think of Alex. She had been melancholy lately. Even the departure of her mother's kinky boyfriend hadn't cheered her much. Then her mother had lost both of her jobs, just after the first of the year. Things hadn't been going well.   
Grissom's cell phone rang. It was the dispatcher. She had received several phone calls from a man who insisted on talking to Grissom. The man hadn't left a name or a number, but was insistent about physically seeing Grissom. He left no number, only an address. Grissom took it down, frowning at it.   
"Do you mind if we make a side trip?" Grissom asked.   
Sara looked concerned. "What's wrong?"   
"I'm not sure. Someone has been calling for me, but hasn't given a name. Just an address." Grissom looked at the address, feeling uneasy. "I just want to check it out."   
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sara sounded uncertain.   
"No." Grissom paused. "But something tells me not to wait."   
Grissom and Sara pulled up in front of a run-down apartment building. It was the one where Alexe lived. It was a depressing, sad looking little building. They walked up to the office and Grissom rapped on the door. Across the hall a door opened a crack.   
"Office's closed. Come back tomorrow." The door slammed shut again.   
Grissom knocked on the door. It opened the length of the chain and narrow eyes peered out.   
"My name is Gil Grissom, I'm from the crime lab."   
"Yes, yes. Here." A large manila envelope was shoved through the door, before the door was slammed in his face.   
On the front in large black block letters was written:   
GIL GRISSOM   
LAS VEGAS CRIME LAB   
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA   
URGENT   
Grissom opened the envelope and glanced at the contents. Two plastic bags. Grissom pulled the first one out a few inches. It was a letter addressed to him.   
Dear Mr. Grissom:   
I'm sorry. I can't keep going   
Grissom stared at the letter. In a blinding flash of clarity the pieces fell into place. "The scars on her arm are self-inflicted. How could I have overlooked that?"   
Grissom pounded on the door again. It opened a gap. "What?!"   
"Where did this come from?" Grissom demanded.   
"I don't know nothing. I don't wanna be involved."   
"It's important." Grissom persisted. "It's part of an investigation."   
Sara's brow creased but she said nothing.   
"Apartment 405. I don't know nothing else."   
Grissom raced up the stairs. Sara followed. Grissom tried the door. It was locked. He banged on it urgently.   
"Alex?" Grissom called. "Alex! Open the door!"   
Sara pulled out a plastic card and slid it between the door frame and the door. The lock clicked and she shoved it open. Grissom felt around for a light. The switch clicked but there was no light. Grissom pulled out his flashlight, Sara followed suit. Slowly, they entered the apartment.   
"Alex?" Grissom's voice echoed through the empty apartment.   
Grissom walked down the hallway. Sara veered off into the kitchen. There was a loud, piercing exclamation from Sara.   
"Grissom." She cried out. "Call 911.... we need an EMS unit here."   
"What is it, Sara?" Grissom's voice was calm.   
"Stay out." She commanded.   
Sara knelt on the kitchen floor beside Alexe. In the dark, it looked like there was blood everywhere. The sleeves of Alexe's faded shirt were turning dark. Alexe looked as if she had melted in the corner like a forgotten ice cream cone. Sara's hands shook imperceptibly as she pushed up the sleeves. Angry jagged lacerations raced up Alexe's arms.   
"She was a cutter." murmured Grissom, handing Sara a towel. "She relieved stress by self-mutilation. That's what the scars were."   
"I'm sorry, Gris." Sara didn't know what else to say.   
"The paramedics are on their way. Let's see if we can slow the bleeding." Grissom's voice was clam and even. He wrapped the towel around Alexe's arms and pressed down on the wounds.   
Alex's hand were ice cold and she had lost consciousness. Grissom hoped they hadn't been too late. 

Grissom and Sara followed the EMT down to the waiting truck. One of the paramedics glanced up as Alexe was loaded into the truck.   
"We'll transport to the hospital; ER's standing by. She was lucky you found her. Any ideas about the parents?"   
"No." replied Grissom. "We're still working on that."   
"Will she be okay?" asked Sara.   
"Physically? Yes, there's a good chance she'll be just fine. Thanks to you folks. Other than that... it's hard to say." He shook his head as he climbed into the truck. "Live to cut another day, I suppose."   
"Wow! That was jaded." said Sara as the ambulance pulled away.   
"Jaded ,but true." commented Grissom absently, watching the truck pull away. "It's a common occurrence in teens, especially teenage girls, to perform self-destructive acts. Odds are she'll do it again."   
"Yeah, but you can change those odds." Sara looked at Grissom with anxiety.   
A uniformed officer approached them. "Mr. Grissom? Ms. Sidle? The power is back on."   
Grissom looked at him without seeing him. "Thanks."   
"Grissom, I might have known. My deputies thought it was strange that the crime lab would be here first."   
"Hello, sheriff." Grissom's voice was flat. That worried Sara. Grissom's mind was elsewhere.   
"I'll call Nick and Warrick to finish the investigation." Sara touched Grissom's shoulder. "Then we can go."   
"Go where?" asked the sheriff.   
"The hospital." Grissom moved towards the crime lab truck. "Nick and Warrick will answer your questions. I'm removing myself from the investigation." 

"What was in the envelope?" asked Sara as they headed to the hospital.   
Sara had insisted on driving, so Grissom sat in the passenger's seat, the envelope still tucked under his arm. He opened it slowly. Inside was the letter and Alex's watch. Both contained in sealed plastic bags.   
"That's odd." muttered Sara.   
"It's evidence." murmured Grissom. "Proof of the existence of a ghost."   
He swallowed hard and looked at the letter again, this time reading all of it.   
-------   
Dear Mr. Grissom,   
I'm sorry. I can't keep going. I can't take this pseudo half existence anymore. I tried. I really did. I know I've disappointed you, but it's time for you to move on. You've finished your time with me. I made sure of that.   
My mom is gone. She left without a word a few days ago. Maybe she went to join Keith on the coast. Maybe she o'ded in some crack house somewhere. I doubt it. I think she just left because she didn't want to deal with it anymore. We've been evicted again. She's broke and out of work. We have no family. There's no where to go.   
I guess I'm giving up too. I don't want to try anymore. I don't want to live in a shelter or be taken in by strangers. I've had enough pity. You are the first person to treat me like a person and not like a ghost.   
I really appreciate everything you did for me. Don't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault. In fact, you stopped me once before. The day you asked me what I was listening to. I hadn't planned on coming back the next day, but you asked and I couldn't refuse. I'm sorry. I tried. I really tried, but I can't keep living like this.   
------   
Grissom stared at the letter. The truth of what had happened sinking in. All her moodiness lately, the odd conversations. The picture frame, her favorite thing.   
"I should have seen this coming." Grissom muttered.   
"Hey, Gris. Don't blame yourself. Some kids just get...." Sara searched for the right word. "... desperate. She's going to be okay."   
"How could I miss it?" Grissom berated himself aloud.   
"The same was the rest of the people who knew her missed it. And maybe you didn't miss it, you just didn't know what you were looking at."   
"I should have done something."   
"You did." Sara put a hand on his arm. "You saved her life. Now comes the hard part. You have to be there when she wakes up. Don't be judgmental or try to solve her problems. Just be there and listen."   
Grissom looked at Sara. She stopped in front of the hospital. "Go on, Gris." she said. "We can finish up the shift without you. One of us will be down later to pick you up." 

"How long have you been here?"   
Alex's voice was dry and cracked like the desert in the afternoon sun.   
"All night."   
Grissom sat beside the bed, his hand resting atop hers.   
"Why am I here?" Her luminous green eyes shone with tears that leaked from the corners. "You should have let me go."   
"I couldn't do that." breathed Grissom giving her hand a gentle squeeze.   
"Your job?" Alexe coughed tears trickling down her face.   
"No. I guess I got emotionally involved." Grissom started to say more, but was interrupted by a nurse.   
The nurse gave Grissom a maternal smile. "She will be fine, Mr. Grissom, but she needs to rest and I suspect so do you."   
The nurse gave Alexe a shot and checked her IV and the monitors. She looked at both of them sternly. "A few more minutes, then both of you need to get some sleep. That's an order." With that the nurse left.   
"I think you'll need this." Grissom pulled out the watch and wrapped it around her wrist.   
Alexe gave him a weak smile. She shivered, her whole body convulsing.   
"It's cold in here. I'm cold." She yawned, her eyes drooping. "I'm always cold."   
Grissom removed his jacket and tucked it in around her.   
"Thanks." She yawned again. "Will you be here later?"   
"Will you?" He looked at her seriously.   
"Yes." she whispered.   
"Okay."   
Alexe's eyes closed. Her breathing became slow and even. Grissom watched her for a moment, reassured that she was sleeping peacefully. Then he realized he was being watched. Sara stood in the doorway.   
She looked at him expectantly. "Ready to go?"   
Grissom shrugged and turned to go.   
"That was really sweet." said Sara as they stepped onto the elevator.   
"What?" Grissom looked puzzled.   
"Leaving your coat with her so she wouldn't feel abandoned." replied Sara.   
Grissom shrugged. "She was cold." 


End file.
